The Phone Call

After He Said Cancer | A Memoir

His baritone voice came from the living room in short spurts. Then, a small sound of agreement. He must have been talking to one of his sisters. His relaxed voice was normally melodic to my ears, especially when he was on the phone. But not today.

His voice was tense and speech pattern faster than usual. He still hadn’t told anyone about his cancer, including his sisters and mother. They would be the first to know.

We had argued about this, more than once. In the beginning, I had agreed not to tell anyone about his cancer diagnosis while we were in shock and still getting information. But it was now a month later, and he still wasn’t ready to tell anyone. The burden of this secret was making me feel terribly isolated. So isolated that I felt as if I had been alone in a cold, dry, tundra – without anyone with whom I could share my feelings. Except, of course, the traumatized patient.

“Wouldn’t they want to know?” I had asked him sharply. “What are you waiting for? The results of the surgery? Unit after you start chemotherapy?” I was tired of the burden of this secret. The load was honestly heavy enough.

“I will tell them when I am ready,” he said. “It’s not the right time.” Until we learned more, he wanted to leave them in the dark so they wouldn’t worry.

Just tell them, I thought. Get it over with. They have a right to know.

“Do you want me to tell them? Would that make it easier?” I asked, knowing how he would respond. My frustration was getting the better of me.

“No. It’s my diagnosis,“ he replied sternly. “When to tell them is my decision.” He was irritated and shot me a look that this would be the end of the conversation.

Since that conversation, nothing had really changed.  He wasn’t sleeping and I wasn’t sleeping.  His face had become more pale and worn. The wrinkles around his eyes were more pronounced than they had ever been.  

I took a step closer to the living room where I could hear what he was saying a little better, but he couldn’t see me. I was hoping this would be the day when he would tell one of his sisters about the cancer.

More than anything, I didn’t want to go through this alone and I was tired of lying. No, everything is not alright. We were both crumbling and needed family and friends to help us get through this very tough year of medical treatments. At some point, my grief demons would find a way to escape, and I would start crying in an aisle of the supermarket.

“Yeah…that’s interesting…,” he was saying on the phone. His responses had shortened and then he took a quick breath, as if preparing to say something.

“Hey, something funny happened. I found a lump in my chest. If you can believe it, it’s breast cancer,” he said quickly with an empty laugh. “So, I need to have surgery for it, but everything will be fine…” he continued in an upbeat voice. He paused and a sound came through his phone that even I could hear. It sounded like someone shouted What! into the phone.

“I was surprised too,” he said with another lighthearted laugh. Slowly, he began to give a few details. There would be surgery, and we would know more about the treatment plan later. He was doing just fine and wasn’t too worried about it. He was just going to take one day at a time. I don’t remember how the call ended, but after a while there was just silence. The call was over.

I stepped away from my hiding place and entered the living room. He was sitting in our large, blue wingback chair near the fireplace. This was the place that he liked to read in the evenings and stretch out his long legs onto the living room carpet. Our dog would often curl up between his legs. Sometimes, I would sit down on the carpet against his legs and pet the dog. There was something wonderful about feeling the touch of his legs and the dog’s warm body.

I wanted to be close to him after this call. Sitting down, I leaned against his legs and reached back to wrap my arms around them. I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of his legs.

I could breathe. His cancer wasn’t a secret anymore. Finally, finally, he had told one sister.

Now, this call would set into motion a chain of calls and requests for information, which would focus the family’s attention and worries on him. Being the center of attention made him uncomfortable.

It was only a matter of time now before I got a phone call asking me to share ‘the real story’ of what was going on with his health. The details he provided were too thin. The family would want more than this.

The dog got up from the dog bed in the living room and made her way over to us. Somehow, she managed to lie down on her back while touching both of our legs. Just like that, her belly was in the air, tail slightly wagging.

My phone chimed and his sister’s name popped up on my screen.

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